-Day 48-
A: It's Friday. I'm bringing lunch over. What would you like?
G: Fish and chips.
A: Be there in a bit.
Guinevere told me that she was going to go down to the shop after lunch. So I've decided we can still have our Friday lunch. We'll just have it at her flat.
I love how she usually knows what she wants. None of that irritating, "Oh, whatever you want is fine with me," or "I don't know," that always leads to my suggestions being shot down. I ask her, she tells me. It's great.
I show up with fish and chips shortly after 12:30, and she's up and dressed and pretty much looking like she feels fine. She's got a purple v-neck tee and jeans on, and her hair is in two braids, the kind that start up high on her head.
"You look healthy," I say, smiling at her as I kiss her hello.
"That's an interesting compliment," she says, laughing.
"What I mean is—"
"I know what you mean," she says. "It just struck me kind of funny, that's all."
"All ready for work this afternoon?" I say, taking off my jacket and sitting at her small dining table.
"Yes. I thought about going down already, but I decided I could wait until after lunch. No need to push myself. Sefa said that things are running smoothly. There are a few repair jobs and the one order I was working on is languishing, but Sefa said that once she explained to the customer that I had an emergency appendectomy, she was fine with waiting. So that will probably be what I mainly work on. Unless the repairs are really easy. Then I might bang those out quickly first."
"Do you do a lot of repair work?" I ask.
"Some. Mostly on other people's pieces, though," she says, smirking.
I laugh. "So, you'll fix things that other jewelers have made? That's nice of you."
"It's good business," she says, shrugging. "If I fix something even though I didn't make it, I might earn a new customer. They may decide to buy from me instead next time, you know?"
"Right," I say. "That does make sense."
"It also lets me see what the competition is doing," she adds with another smirk that makes me laugh again. "The best, though, are the antique pieces. You know, someone's Gran dies and they get the family heirloom ring or something. They need it sized, or repaired, or even just cleaned. I get a lot of new design ideas from really old pieces."
"I bet that is pretty cool. Ever get anything enchanted?"
"Once or twice. Sefa always heads those off, though. She directs them to the appropriate place to take care of those issues."
"She's handy to have around in more ways than one, it seems," I say.
"Sefa is great," Guinevere agrees. "I'm glad you like her."
"I do. She's a nice person and a good friend to you."
We eat quietly for a bit. I tell her about my day, about how the rec center is going. I'm starting a new design for a school addition now, and I tell her some about that.
"Guinevere," I say once I've finished. "I, um, well, there are things piling up at my house that need tending to. So I might go home tonight, if you don't mind."
"Oh, that's fine," she says lightly, but I can see she's trying to hide her disappointment. I think she's gotten as accustomed to my constant company as I have to hers.
"I'd rather be here with you, but, well, I've got two weeks' worth of laundry piling up now, and…"
"You didn't do your laundry when you did mine?" she asks.
"I didn't have time. Yours was more important."
"Oh," she says softly. I think she's still touched that I did her laundry at all.
"And I have bills that need paying, too. I was thinking that I'd take your laundry again and do it with mine, though," I say.
"You're not doing my laundry again!" she protests. "I mean, you did an excellent job, but you don't need to do my laundry," she explains.
"It's no trouble," I say.
"I can do my own."
I cock my head at her. "Um, Guinevere, how are you going to carry it? You're not supposed to do any heavy lifting for two weeks."
"It can wait until I can lift it."
Boy, she's stubborn. "Okay, how about this: I'll come over after work and collect your laundry and you. You can come to my place tonight and we can have a lovely romantic evening of doing the wash."
She smiles, then laughs. "You do know how to sweep a girl off her feet. Okay, I can handle my laundry being done at your place if I'm there to help. I could do with a change of scenery, anyway," she says, looking around.
"All right, then." I nod decisively. I really didn't want to go home all by myself anyway.
If we only have 12 more days, I want to spend as much time as possible with her.
I'm beginning to feel like there's a big hourglass over my head and I'm watching the sand drain from the top half to the bottom half, feeling helpless as I struggle to solve the puzzle before all the sand has run through.
It's almost like some sort of demented game show.
We finish eating and chat for a bit longer before I reluctantly get ready to return to work.
I pull her to me carefully, wrapping my arms around her. "Have a good afternoon. Behave yourself," I say, bending down to kiss her nose. I reach one hand up and tug one of her braids gently. "I like your hair like this, by the way. It's very cute."
"Thank you," she says. "I was bored, so I decided on two French braids instead of one, just to take up more time. And of course I'll behave myself."
Ah. French braids. That's what they're called.
"I'll pick you up at 5:15."
"I'll be ready, with my laundry basket waiting," she says.
"It had better be sitting right where it is now when I get here," I warn. "Don't you move it."
"Yes, Mum," she says, smiling up at me. I can't resist any more and I bend down to kiss her.
xXx
Guinevere is waiting with a small pan of lasagna when I pick her up.
"When did you make this?" I ask, kissing her hello. It's not cooked yet, just in a pan covered in foil.
"This morning. I was going to cook it for us here tonight, but it will travel," she says. I give her a kiss and go get her hamper.
She's put all her towels in along with her clothes. I realize that I didn't wash them last weekend. Whoops.
"Sorry I didn't wash your towels Monday," I say, walking out with the hamper. She tosses her overnight bag on the top of her laundry and opens the door for me, lasagna pan in one hand.
"What you did was more than enough, Arthur. You don't know how much I appreciate you taking care of all that for me," she says, locking the door and walking down the stairs. I follow, walking awkwardly with my load.
We drive to my condo and the first thing Guinevere does when she gets inside is turn on the oven.
"Better check inside, there might be pans in there. I have no idea, honestly. I don't remember the last time I used the oven. If I ever have," I call, dropping her basket near my laundry room before taking her bag to my room.
I wonder if she brought one of her extra toothbrushes to keep here.
I quickly change into some jeans and a t-shirt while she putters in my kitchen.
"It's clear," she calls, laughing. "Oh, in my bag is a loaf of bread, would you bring it out, please?"
"You have a loaf of bread in your bag?" I ask, opening her bag. Sure enough, there it is.
"Seemed like an easy way to carry it," she says, meeting me halfway between the kitchen and my room and taking it from me with a kiss.
"Hey, come back here," I say, grabbing her hand before she can escape. I want another kiss. I wrap my arm around her waist and capture her lips with mine, coaxing them apart, sliding my tongue against hers, taking my time to enjoy the soft sweetness of her mouth.
I release her lips gently, needing air. Needing to stop. It hasn't been a week yet, but the man inside my pants doesn't know that.
"Whoa," she exhales.
"Yeah… maybe that wasn't the best idea," I say, chuckling. She's even harder to resist now than she was before.
"I needed that, though," she admits, giggling. "It's been far too long since we've had a proper snog."
I loosen my arms to let her finish taking the bread to the kitchen. I follow, though, since the laundry is that way as well. "Well, the day you came home we had a small one."
"Small. Just a tease," she says. "Would you like me to make garlic bread out of this or would you like it just plain? Wait, do you have garlic powder or garlic salt?"
"Better have just plain," I say, answering both questions at once. She laughs. I start sorting laundry, throwing her things in with mine, keeping the light colors together and the dark colors together. The towels will be their own load.
"Wow, he even sorts," she says, coming over. "I am impressed."
"Hey, I know what I'm doing here. All it takes is one unintentionally pink shirt, you know."
She laughs and I toss a pair of my boxers in the washer right after a pair of her panties. "Think they'll behave themselves in there?" she asks, peeking in at our commingled clothing.
"Well, if we pull them out of the dryer and baby clothes have mysteriously appeared, then we'll have our answer," I say.
"Silly," she giggles and goes to put the lasagna in the oven.
Laundry has never been so enjoyable. I go grab my towels from my bathroom to wash as well. We watch telly and chat while we wait for dinner and for the first load to be done. She tells me how much she enjoyed being back at work. She managed to get a couple of the repairs done before making good headway on the other job, which is a pair of earrings.
The dryer finishes the first load at the same time as the lasagna finishes in the oven. I look at Guinevere.
"The lasagna needs to sit for a bit anyway," she says. "Otherwise it'll run all over your plate."
"I like it that way," I say, walking to the dryer. "But I suppose that will wait better than the clothes will. Those will just wrinkle."
xXx
Dinner is wonderful, as I would expect, and Guinevere is impressed with my laundry folding skills. She reminds me that I was going to pay some bills, and she changes into her pajamas while I do that.
It's like we're a normal couple, doing simple domestic tasks together. Simple tasks that pass more enjoyably because we're sharing the load. Because we're doing them together. A partnership.
I never realized how much fun could be had doing something so mundane. But I know it's the company making it so.
I never realized how much I long for simple domesticity. But only with my Guinevere.
"You should put your pajama bottoms on. Get comfy," she says, wandering out.
"They're in the washer," I say. "I really should get another pair or I'll wear them out too soon."
"Maybe we'll have to take care of that this weekend," she says. "I've been cooped up all week. I'd like to get out and do some things. Can we still go see the building site?"
"Of course we can. Anything you want," I say. "I just put the next load in the dryer, so we have some time to relax."
"Sounds good," she says, meeting me on the couch. We find something agreeable to watch (or possibly ignore) on the telly, and she nestles into my arms.
"I'm happy you're feeling better," I say, kissing her temple.
"Me too. But I'm getting tired, I think. Now that I'm finally sitting for a minute, it's catching up with me."
"Well, you don't have to do anything other than sit if you don't want to," I say. "The towels are in the washer, and then that's it."
"That was fast," she says.
"Not really. It just felt fast because we were doing it together. Though my machines are probably better than the ones at the launderette, so they might be faster."
"They are faster," she declares.
"All right, then," I say, chuckling. I kiss her temple again, and she moves her head slightly. So I kiss her cheek. Then I lightly nip her ear. She smiles, and I cup her cheek with my hand, caressing her skin as I tilt her face to kiss her lips. She shifts, moving carefully, until she is lying on top of me, looking down at me a moment with an impish gleam in her eye.
"Don't start something we can't finish, Mr. Pendragon," she says.
"Just a few kisses," I say, lifting my head to kiss her. "Like this." I kiss her again. "And this." I kiss her neck, softly. "And this."
"Arthur…"
"Tell me to stop and I will," I mutter against her neck, still kissing, sucking a little, just touching my tongue to her skin to taste her.
"Oh, not fair…" she gasps, running her fingers into my hair as she moves to make it easier to reach her neck.
"Oh?" I ask, moving a little. "I haven't even gotten…" I place a soft, wet kiss directly on her favorite spot, "…here yet."
"Oh…" she moans, and I keep kissing her neck, my hand sliding down her back to her bum.
I need her lips again, so I work my way north, heading back to them. She kisses me back ardently, having missed this as much as I have, contenting ourselves with what we can do right now.
Which, of course, isn't enough.
"Guinevere," I mutter her name, almost a whisper against her lips, and she sighs, her fingers sliding on my scalp, making it tingle.
She shifts her body atop mine slightly, pressing her thigh softly against my groin, and I press back with my hips, instinctively looking for contact, for something to ease the pressure building there.
I groan into her mouth and she clutches my hair, her other hand fisting my shirt at my side, bunching it until she finally gives up and slides her hand under my shirt, against my skin.
"Arthur," she gasps, "we need to stop…"
"Probably," I say, "but you just got to second base…"
She starts laughing then, dropping her head on my shoulder. She squeezes my pec once, then slides her hand back out of my shirt. By this time I'm laughing with her, and it's one of the best feelings ever, just laughing in a heap on the couch with her.
She falls asleep about 45 minutes later. We had untangled ourselves from each other and decided to forego the snogging for fear of the wrath of Dr. Emrys, and once she allowed herself to relax, she fell asleep.
So, I pick her up and carry her to bed again, only this time it's my bed. She hardly stirs, even when I have to shift her around a bit because my covers weren't turned back yet.
I kiss her forehead and whisper, "Good night," before heading back out just as the dryer buzzes.
I fold, alone now, alone with her clothes and my thoughts.
My thoughts are what tend to get me in trouble. I need to redirect that so I can get myself out of trouble.
I know the first thing I have to do.
She's feeling better.
That means I have to tell her. Tomorrow.
I don't know what she'll do or say, but I have to tell her.
I have to tell her, even if it means I'll be alone forever.
But alone forever after having even just 48 days with her is still better than a lifetime of empty relationships with other women.
Women who aren't my Guinevere.
